


Hurricane

by usakeh



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bipolar Disorder, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:52:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usakeh/pseuds/usakeh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is AU. In it, Spencer becomes psychotic and has to be hospitalized during a case in New York City. This is about how Spencer and his partner Derek learn to cope with Spencer's mental illness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freakingdork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakingdork/gifts).



Spencer scanned the hotel room he was sharing with Derek. For a second, his eyes settled on the alarm clock. It was four o’clock in the morning. Beside him, Derek stirred, but did not wake. No nightmares, so far, Spencer thought. That was good. At least Derek was sleeping well, these days.  
  
It wasn't due to nightmares, nor was it due of a fear of having them, that Spencer never slept any longer, though. Not for the past few weeks, anyway. No. It wasn't that at all. He was simply wired. All day, all night. He didn't need sleep, it seemed.   
  
Bored of simply sitting in bed, Spencer rose and rapidly got dressed. It was time to see what the city the never slept was really like this late at night. Derek didn't need him; moreover, he'd had more than enough of sitting still, or lying in bed, thoughts racing. He needed to move.   
  
They were staying in a small hotel in Morningside Heights, right by Columbia University. A serial killer had begun targeting students there, and the team had been brought in to catch him. But that was not on Spencer’s mind, not now. He hadn't taken his gun with him, but he didn't feel scared. If the killer came at him, after all, he could take him without a weapon, no problem.  
  
After weaving his way through the few students still out despite the serial killer’s presence, Spencer began to run. He’d never been particularly athletic, but his energy propelled him forward, fast. It was only once he reached Times Square that he slowed down, then stopped entirely.  
  
When he left the hotel, the lights surrounding him had been thrilling. Now they were overwhelming. Terrifying. He was hearing so many sounds now, too. Too many sounds. He was drowning in the noise. He was drowning and nothing could make it stop save for Derek being there again.   
  
That meant that he needed to be back in their hotel room. He needed Derek. He needed it to be dark and silent and he needed Derek. Spencer took a deep breath. He had to focus, or he’d never be able to make it back. Okay. If he wanted to get back fast, he had to take the subway. Spencer's eyes settled on a sign. Uptown. He’d take the 1 line, get off at 116th Street. He hurried down the station’s steps. Once on the platform, he began pacing.  
  
Only something wasn't right. The people surrounding him were watching him. They were watching him and whispering. Spencer shut his eyes for a few seconds, praying that when he reopened them things would be different. They weren’t. Thankfully, he could also hear a subway approaching. It would be different on the subway. It had to be different on the subway.  
  
Spencer was too restless to sit, so he grabbed one of the metal bars once the train began to move. He stared down at the ground. They were still whispering. They were still watching him. And, all of a sudden, he knew why. There was a bomb strapped to him. There was a bomb on his body. If he didn’t get off at the next stop, he wouldn’t be the only one it killed.  
  
Spencer ran up the stairs leading to 72nd Street. Only one thought kept him from starting to yell: namely, that Derek would fix this. If he could make it to him, Derek would disarm the bomb. Nobody would have to die. Spencer began running again, heading uptown towards the hotel.   
  
When he got back into their room, he raced over to the bed and shook Derek roughly until he stirred.  
  
“What’s going on, kid?” Derek asked sleepily.   
  
“You have to listen. You have to listen very carefully.” Spencer had to work hard to keep a stream of incoherent words from simply spilling forth. Finally, in a high-pitched voice, he managed to add, “I have a bomb strapped to me."  
  
Derek's eyes widened and he jumped out of bed. Spencer saw the panic in his eyes as he looked Spencer over; it mirrored his own.   
  
"You have to get it off, Derek. You have to get it off or we’re both going to die and if you can’t I’ll go somewhere where I can be alone and then nobody else will get hurt which is obviously the optimal solution save for the scenario in which you–”  
  
“Spencer,” Derek finally said, sitting back down on the bed. “Spencer, listen. You don’t have anything strapped to you. You’re fine. There is no bomb.”   
  
“What the _hell_ are you talking about? It’s there. It’s–”  
  
“Spencer, calm down.” In a smooth, fluid motion, Derek stood up and pulled Spencer close. Immediately, Spencer started struggling. He didn’t cease until he broke free.   
  
“I can't calm down!” Spencer subsequently shouted. “I have a bomb strapped to me, Derek!” Spencer slammed a closed fist against the wall, hard. “They were talking about it on the subway. They were all talking about it and I had to get off and I ran here, I ran here because I thought that you could fix it but you don’t believe me, you don’t even believe–”   
  
“I–”  
  
“Derek! Listen to me! You have to listen to me!”  
  
“I am listening.”  
  
“No, you’re–”  
  
“I see it, okay? I can disarm it, but I need some specialized equipment.” Derek said. “I’ll need to go and get it. Will you come with me? We still have three hours left. That’s plenty of time.”   
  
“Three hours?” Spencer shut his eyes. He hadn’t stopped to think about how it was wired, or how much time remained. “Okay,” he said, breathlessly. “I’ll come.”  
  
“Good,” Derek replied, breathing out a sigh of relief.  
  
Before long, Derek had a trembling Spencer in the car. He was so restless that he couldn’t help but squirm against the seat belt restraining him. Finally, he turned to his partner and asked, “Where, exactly, are we going? You have to tell me, Derek!”   
  
“I’m taking you to a safe place. They’ll be able to help us. And we’re almost there,” Derek responded. “Just try and take a few deep breaths, okay?”  
  
Spencer shut his eyes. Only when the car stopped did he reopen them, only to see that Derek had brought him to a _hospital_ , of all places.  
  
“No!” Spencer cried out.   
  
“What’s the matter? I just need to get some spare parts to disarm it in here. Come with me.” Derek urged as steadily as he could.  
  
Spencer never consciously decided to start running again, nor did he choose to fight back when Derek tackled him to prevent him from getting away. It just happened. It just _happened._  
  
“You’re stronger than you look,” Derek gasped as he struggled to subdue Spencer.   
  
“Let me go!” Spencer struggled against Derek’s firm grip once Derek rose, pulling Spencer to his feet in the process. “You lied!” Spencer yelled before reaching out and scratching Derek’s cheek, drawing blood. “You’re part of it!”  
  
“Spencer, I’m not part of anything. I’m here to–”  
  
“Everything okay over here?” An olive-skinned, black-haired woman asked as she hurried in their direction.  
  
“No, it's not! I have a bomb strapped to–"  
  
“There is no bomb,” Derek interrupted hurriedly. "I think he's having a psychotic break. His mother is a paranoid schizophrenic," he explained.  
  
"Let _go_ of me!” Spencer yelled, continuing to struggle against Derek's hold on him.  
  
The woman rushed away; before Spencer knew it, however, she was back with six men by her side, blue gloves on their hands. One was pushing a stretcher with restraints on it. “I’m going to need you to let Spencer go,” the woman instructed Derek. “Don’t worry. He’ll be in good hands.”   
  
“Good hands?” Derek echoed.  
  
“After we do the intake paperwork, he’ll be placed on the hospital’s psychiatric ward. I’m one of the nurses on the unit,” she said, soothingly.  
  
Summoning all of his strength, Spencer finally broke free. But before he knew it, the men in the blue gloves were upon him. They grabbed him. Held him down. One of them pulled out a needle.   
  
"NO!" Spencer screamed.  
  
Derek was in the background, watching helplessly.  
  
That was the last image Spencer saw before it all went black.


	2. Chapter 2

When Spencer regained consciousness, he was in a small room with padded walls. Spencer shut his eyes. Maybe when he opened them, he'd be back in the hotel room with Derek instead of what could only be a hospital's psychiatric ward; maybe everything that had happened had just been a nightmare.

“Spencer! You’re awake again. Excellent."

Spencer opened his eyes slowly. The woman who'd approached them earlier was sitting in a chair, blocking his way out. It had all happened.

“It's okay. You're safe. You’re in a hospital.”

“I know that much."

"Look, I am sure that you’ll be out of here soon. If you stay calm, you can even go say goodbye to Derek before we take you to see Dr. Kim for your intake evaluation."

She was speaking to him as if he were a small child. Infuriated, Spencer wanted to ask her how many doctorates she had. But, with effort, he held his tongue, if only because she was going to determine whether or not he got to say goodbye to Derek.

"I'm calm," he said after a pause. "I'm calm, I swear."

"All right." She stood up and pulled the chair aside, beckoning Spencer forward. "My name is Sofia and I'm one of the mental health workers on this unit. I'll be watching you tonight. Until Dr. Kim takes you off of status, you see, you'll have somebody with you at all times.”

Great, Spencer thought. Not only was he in a mental hospital, but they’d determined that he needed to be under constant observation. It was strange. He’d imagined ending up in a place like this so many times; now that it had actually happened, however, it still didn’t quite seem real.

Spencer forced himself to refocus. He’d have plenty of time to dwell on his situation later. Now he had a chance to see his partner. Turning to Sofia, he asked, “So, where’s Derek?”

"I'm right here, love," Derek said soothingly, coming out from around the corner. Seconds later, Derek pulled Spencer into a tight hug. When the two men let go of each other, Spencer saw the scratches on Derek's face.

"Did I–"

He didn't have to finish the question, nor did Derek need to provide him with an answer; the look on Derek's face told Spencer all he needed to know. Spencer nearly burst into tears right there and then. But, thankfully, he still had enough self-control to stop himself.

"It's okay," Derek said. "It's okay. I'm fine. I know that you didn't mean it; I know that you weren't yourself when you did it."

Spencer had seen Derek injured countless times. He hadn't gotten used to it, and he doubted that he ever would. But at least he'd never had to stare at a scar he'd put there himself. Not until now.

"It's just a scratch. And I know that you didn't mean it. So stop beating yourself up over it," Derek added.

Spencer cleared his throat. He'd had to see his mother unravel while growing up, had to see her disease slowly but steadily destroy her. He knew what Derek was feeling. So this was no time for tears; he could cry later, in private. For Derek's sake, he had to be strong right now.

"Still," Spencer finally said, as steadily as he could, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but Dr. Kim needs to see you now,” Sofia interjected. Turning to Derek, she asked, “You have a sheet with the unit phone numbers and visiting hours on it, right?"

Derek nodded.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Derek added. "I'll tell the team that we're using some of our vacation days, which both of us still have, to spend extra time in New York."

The team. His job. Spencer fought to keep the emotions flooding through him from being reflected in his expression. No matter what Derek used as an excuse for now, he'd have to resign from his position. Given what had just transpired, it was the only responsible thing to do. Unable to speak, Spencer simply nodded, at which point Derek rushed forward and embraced him again.

“It’s going to be okay,” Derek whispered in Spencer's ear. “I promise.”

“You can promise me a lot of things, Derek," Spencer finally whispered back. "But you can’t promise me that.”

* * *

Dr. Kim looked no older than thirty-five, but still radiated a comforting air of competence. After sitting down across from Spencer, he took out a yellow legal pad.  
  
"So, as you know, I'm here to do your intake interview," he said. "I may or may not be your psychiatrist for the rest of your stay. That'll be decided tomorrow. Anyway, how are you feeling right now?"

Spencer was still thinking about the sadness even Derek hadn't quite been able to hide.

"Spencer?" Dr. Kim prompted.

"Sorry." Spencer gave it some thought before finally saying, "I feel really sedated. What did they give me? I don't even recall being brought to the unit."

"An injection of haloperidol," Dr. Kim responded after consulting the legal pad. "So I take it that you're quite calm now, and are no longer concerned about a bomb being strapped to you. Is that correct?"

Spencer nodded. They subsequently went through all the standard questions. He was asked about his family history, whether his behavior had been different lately, and so on, and so forth. It was strange. Spencer expected to have questions; he always had questions. But right now he barely had the energy needed to answer what Dr. Kim asked him, never mind come up with his own ideas.

"All right," Dr. Kim said after what Spencer had started to believe would never end. "Thank you for bearing with me. You've been very helpful. Sofia will take you to your room once you sign a few documents stating that you're here voluntarily."

As tired as he was, Spencer couldn't help but remember what it was like to commit his mother. She’d been unable to realize that anything was amiss; she’d insisted that it was all a big misunderstanding. At least he had enough insight to realize that something was very, very wrong.

"You do want to sign yourself in, right?" Dr. Kim prompted.

Spencer nodded.

"Good." Dr. Kim passed him three separate forms. He couldn't even read them; he was that drugged. So he just wrote his initials where Dr. Kim told him to write them, and signed in all the appropriate places.

"That it?" Spencer asked once they finished the last sheet.

"That's it. You look like you're on the verge of passing out. Do you think you can make it to the end of the hallway?"

Slowly, Spencer nodded.

"Well, go get some rest. You'll meet your treatment team, which may or may not include me, tomorrow. Patients and treatment teams usually meet in the morning, but I'll make sure they seek you out last so that you can get a little more sleep."

"Thank you."

Spencer stood up, shakily. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure that he could make it to the end of the hallway, or even remain on his feet. Just as he was about to collapse, fortunately, Sofia held out her arm.

Before he fell asleep, he silently thanked them for injecting him with so much haloperidol. He was so tired that he could fall asleep without thinking very much about everything that had transpired. He could be grateful for that, at least.

He could most certainly be grateful for that.

* * *

Spencer awoke to the sound of somebody shouting. Until then, he'd slept soundly for the first time in weeks. But he knew instantly that there was no way he'd be able to go back to sleep. The terror in the shouting man's voice reminded him too much of everything that had occurred earlier in the night.

"Don’t worry, Spencer,” Sofia said. “Everything’s fine; another patient is just having a hard time. Why don't you try and get some more rest?"

"I can't go back to sleep with some guy screaming in the middle of the hallway," Spencer snapped. Immediately thereafter, he felt guilty. It wasn’t Sofia’s fault that he was stuck in a padded room. Abashedly, he added, “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

“It’s okay. You’ve had a rough night.” Sofia paused and turned around; after a quick exchange with the other staff member, she turned back to Spencer. “Do you think you could move into your room? We have a single all ready for you.”

As Spencer sank down onto his bed, drained of all energy, he couldn’t help but wonder, “How the hell did this happen? How the hell did this happen?”

He felt like starting to sob, but couldn’t. It was probably for the best. He was still on status, so he couldn’t exactly go hide anywhere and cry alone. And somehow, even after everything he knew Sofia had seen him do, he didn’t want her to try to see him break down in tears.

Eventually, Spencer did drift off to sleep, only to be awoken a few hours later by Dr. Kim and a striking woman with light brown skin, curly hair and gray eyes. She immediately introduced herself as Tee and said that she’d be his social worker.

She also said that Spencer had slept through the time when patients were usually seen by their treatment teams. But as it was his first day, they’d allowed it.

“Thank you,” Spencer said wearily. How much medication had they given him? Or was it just a result of the fact that he’d spent most of his nights wide awake for the past few months?

Dr. Kim cleared his throat to gain Spencer’s attention; he’d been asked something and hadn’t even noticed. After Dr. Kim made sure he was calm, but said he had to stay on status for the time being, he proceeded to ask Spencer more detailed questions about the past few months.

Spencer answered as best he could. Sometimes, he found, his usually eidetic memory failed him; details were blurry, or things were blocked out entirely. Were he not so sedated, it would have terrified him; given that he was, he only felt vaguely anxious about the possibility that this very well could be the end of his life as a functional, productive person.

“All right,” Dr. Kim said, scribbling down one more note on a yellow legal pad and then looking up at Spencer. “It’s a bit early to make a definitive diagnosis, even with the additional information you’ve given us. I usually wouldn’t say anything this early. But because I know that you’re afraid that you may have developed schizophrenia, let me say that I don’t think that’s what’s happening here at all. Rather, I believe that you’re in the midst of a manic episode with some breakthrough psychotic features.”

“So you think that I have bipolar disorder?” Spencer queried.

“At the moment, that is the condition from which I believe you are suffering, yes. I know it’s hardly good news either. But since you were so worried, I thought that it might help you feel better if you heard that.”

“I was, and it does.”

But Spencer’s initial rush of relief was turning into pessimism at a record pace. For one, how did he manage to not see this coming? How did he not realize that something was very, very wrong? After having worried about developing schizophrenia his entire life, how could he not have realized that he was in the midst of a severe manic episode? It all made so much sense now.

“May I ask you a few questions, Spencer? Spencer?” Tee asked.

“Sorry,” Spencer said. “I keep drifting off.”

Tee smiled and said, “If anybody should be apologizing, it’s me. You’ve been asked enough personal questions. So I’ll keep this as brief as I can.”

Once she finished asking him about every aspect of his life, Tee and Dr. Kim finally left his room. As Derek couldn’t bring him fresh clothing until later, when visiting hours began, they gave him blue sweatpants and a white t-shirt, both of which were a little large, and a composition book so that he could “journal” if he so desired.

After finding that he couldn’t go back to sleep, felt too anxious to leave his single room and interact with his fellow patients, and was beginning to get into a strange mood again, he even tried it.

But he couldn’t seem to keep his thinking clear enough to write anything coherent. And that – that – was the last straw. Spencer began sobbing hysterically. Wisely, Sofia let him do so without comment.


	3. Chapter 3

After a few hours, Spencer felt his mood begin to change. The abject despair melted away, leaving a strange sort of serenity. It was all okay. It was all going to be okay.  
  
Then came the euphoria. He stood in the middle of his room, watching everything glow; it took his breath away. He was in a psychiatric hospital, true. But what did that matter, when he had _this_? It was like some sort of superpower.  
  
“You okay, Spencer?” Sofia asked.  
  
“I’m fine. I’m more than fine. I can see the city glow without even looking out the window; I _am_ the city, the whole city. I am one with it. The good and the bad, the gorgeous and the grotesque. They are both in my mind and I love both and I am both. The city shines and I shine with it. Can you see it? Because I can see it, and it leaves me breathless. Its beauty is overwhelming.”  
  
“Spencer,” Sofia said slowly, “I think that you might need more medication. You could take it orally this time, not by injection. Let’s see what the nurse has for you, okay? Please?”  
  
“Now? Are you kidding me?” Spencer knew, deep down, that she was right. But he didn’t want to give this up, not yet.  
  
“Spencer, _please._ ”  
  
Spencer hesitated. In the end, for Sofia’s sake, he approached the medication window and knocked at the top part. It opened immediately.  
  
“Hello,” the nurse behind the window said, opening the top of a door that was split in two. She had a vaguely Russian accent, long brown hair and sharp blue eyes. “You got here last night?”  
  
He nodded, and she glanced at a computer screen, and then back at him.  
  
“Spencer Reid, right?”  
  
He nodded again.  
  
“I’m Alexandra,” the nurse said. After typing something into the computer, she added, “Dr. Kim has prescribed Thorazine as your PRN medication. You need this?”  
  
“Actually, not really, but–”  
  
“He does,” Sofia interjected.  
  
“If Sofia says that you get this medication, I give you the medication.” Alexandra smiled. “Sofia’s a smart lady. You should listen to her.”  
  
Alexandra placed two pills in a cup and handed him a cup full of cold water. Spencer hesitated. He didn’t want to make a scene, but the last thing in the world he wanted to do was take anything that would eliminate the euphoria, consequences be damned. This was _heaven_.  
  
“Spencer, _please_ take the medication. Don’t you want to be feeling calm when Derek comes to visit you? Feeling like yourself? And while I know that this feels good right now, try to remember why you’re here in the first place,” Sofia implored.  
  
“I don’t want it,” Spencer said.  
  
Subsequently, suddenly – just as his euphoria had turned to fear in the night – the ecstasy he felt became an entirely different emotion. Why were they doing this to him? Why were they keeping him locked up in here? _Trapping_ him here?  
  
Enraged, Spencer subsequently turned to Sofia and yelled, “I’m not taking your tranquilizers. And you know what else? I want you to let me out of this place. Now.”  
  
Sofia responded, very slowly and cautiously, “You know that I can’t do that, Spencer. You _know_ that I can’t do that.”  
  
Spencer made a move towards her and then stopped. Two impulses were at war within him: the desire to attack, and his fear that there was something very wrong with that. He wasn’t an angry person. He didn’t attack people, did he? And yet, now, he wanted that and only that. The sheer effort required to keep himself from acting on his violent desires caused him to start shaking.  
  
“Let me out,” Spencer finally snapped. “Let me the fuck out of here or I swear, Sofia, I don’t know _what_ I’ll do.”  
  
Spencer slammed a fist against the wall; it hurt like hell, but it lessened his desire to attack Sofia ever so slightly, so he did it again, and again. In the background, he could hear Alexandra and Sofia speaking, first to him and then merely to each other. He knew they wanted him to stop, but if he didn’t, he’d hurt _them_ if they didn’t let him out, which, apparently, they couldn’t do.  
  
Next thing he knew, the men in the blue gloves were back. Deep down, there was a part of him that knew they’d be called, knew they’d come to stop him, and wanted that. He could attack _them_ , after all. They were bigger and stronger. Unlike Alexandra and Sofia, they wouldn’t be hurt, right? So he struggled furiously when they grabbed him and injected him again, yelling until the medication calmed him.  
  
“We’ve really got to stop meeting this way,” one of them – a muscular, handsome man with curly black hair and intense black eyes – said as they walked an exhausted, docile Spencer back over to the Quiet Room. “I’m Carlos, by the way.”  
  
Despite being barely conscious, Spencer searched for Sofia. But she was gone. When he asked where she was, Carlos said that he was taking over for her because her shift was over. He said that he shouldn’t worry. Sofia would be back tomorrow.  
  
“She won’t take it personally,” Carlos added. “It wasn’t your fault.”  
  
Or had it been? He’d wanted to _hurt_ somebody, Spencer thought guiltily. That thought made it through the medication induced haze clearly enough. He tried to apologize to Carlos once more, who was stripping off the blue gloves and taking a seat by the door, and attempted to tell him to apologize to Sofia on his behalf if he saw her before she returned.  
  
Again, Carlos told him that it hadn’t been his fault. That he’d just have to learn to recognize the signs of these episodes in advance and ask for extra medication. Spencer knew all of this, intellectually.  
  
In fact, he would have told somebody the same exact things. He’d even done just that, in the past, with both his mother and mentally ill individuals he’d met through his work at the Bureau. And yet here he was, feeling awful about it. God, his hand hurt. The pain kept him more alert, though, so he wasn’t about to say anything about it.  
  
But Carlos must have noticed, as he asked to see Spencer’s hand and then had somebody bring over an ice pack.  
  
“You’re lucky that you didn’t break anything,” he commented. “It’ll be swollen for sure, though, so keep the ice pack on it.”  
  
The ice pack kept him more focused, too, it turned out, so Spencer kept it in place.  
  
“Thanks,” he said. Then he remembered something important: namely, that Derek was supposed to come and see him. Great. If Derek saw him in this state he’d be even more worried. That he’d had to deal with last night was more than enough. Spencer knew first hand how draining it was to have a loved one be ill. He couldn’t put Derek through that, could he? And yet here he was. Here he was.  
  
“Hey, Carlos,” Spencer said after a few minutes passed in which he was silent, simply staring at the wall.  
  
“What’s up?” Carlos asked, then added, “You should just let yourself sleep, you know. We gave you pretty strong stuff.”  
  
“I will. I just need to know if my partner will still be able to come. And how long I have until he arrives, if he can come,” Spencer said, curling up on the cot in the Quiet Room. It was kind of cold; maybe he’d ask Carlos if he could have a blanket.  
  
“Unfortunately, visiting hours begin in about ten minutes,” Carlos said, sympathetically. “And is your partner named Derek? There’s a Derek waiting outside the unit. He came early because he wanted to chat with your doctor, but we’re pretty strict about when visitors are allowed on the unit, here.”  
  
Great. He’d just come out, hadn’t he? Hopefully, Carlos wasn’t a homophobe. He didn’t seem like the type – if anything, Spencer would have guessed he might even be gay himself – but he was way too drugged to tell for sure.  
  
“Yes, that’s him,” Spencer said, anxiously.  
  
“Thought so.” Carlos grinned. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. You’ve one handsome partner, too, but don’t go telling my boyfriend I said so."  
  
Spencer smiled, wearily.  
  
“So can I see him even though I’m on status?” Spencer asked.  
  
“You’re calm now; if you’re up for it, you can see him.” Carlos paused. “But you shouldn’t push yourself. If you need to rest, rest. I’m sure that he’ll understand.”  
  
He’ll understand, Spencer thought. Of course he’ll understand. But he’ll only be even more worried, and Spencer just couldn’t have that. Derek had been put through enough already.


	4. Chapter 4

“Can I leave this room yet?” Spencer asked a few minutes later.  
  
“Sure. You’re on still status, though, so I’ll have to keep an eye on you. Okay?”  
  
“Okay.” Spencer started to get to his feet, but almost passed out in the process. When he stumbled slightly, Carlos caught him.  
  
“Careful, careful,” Carlos said. “You should probably have some juice. I don’t want you passing out on me.”  
  
Carlos turned away for a second and asked one of the mental health workers something; she soon returned with three small containers filled with orange juice. Carlos opened the first one and handed it to Spencer.  
  
Once Spencer finished all three containers, he very slowly got to his feet; this time, he was only a little dizzy. Still, he didn’t want to go far, so he walked out to the closest couch and sat down there.  
  
When visiting hours began, Spencer considered going over by the doors to wait for Derek. He quickly reconsidered once he saw how many people were clustered around the area. He didn’t really feel up to dealing with a crowd.  
  
At least, that’s what he thought until he heard Derek’s voice. That was enough to get him to stand shakily and make his way over there as fast as he could. Carlos trailed him at a distance, as promised.  
  
“Spencer? Spencer!” Derek exclaimed, pulling him into a tight embrace.  
  
Spencer allowed himself to let go slightly, to lean against Derek. So much for discretion, Spencer thought. But when he pulled back, he realized everybody else was too busy with their own loved ones to notice, or care.  
  
“They have somebody watching me all the time, right now. I thought it was going to be really bad, but so far the people who have been with me have been kind to me,” Spencer explained as they sat down.  
  
“Did something happen?” Derek asked. “Spencer, did something happen, or is this because you just arrived? And what did the doctor tell you? I wanted to speak to him myself, but they wouldn’t let me in because of some damn rule about visiting hours.”  
  
Spencer hesitated.  
  
“Damn it,” Derek shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I shouldn’t–”  
  
“You have every right to ask,” Spencer said, sadly. “I know that you’re just concerned. And I wish that I could say everything was fine, but it’s not.”  
  
“I’m sorry, love,” Derek said, shaking his head again. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I shouldn’t have–”  
  
“Like I said, you have every right to ask; if I were in your place I’d be trying to find out what was wrong and what the plan was, too. I just wish that I had better news. I thought that maybe I should just lie to you, but that wouldn’t be fair, either.”  
  
“I’m so sorry, love. I hate to see you going through all of this.”  
  
 _I hate to see you going through all of this._  
  
Spencer knew how much that could hurt, first hand, having watched his mother descend into madness so many, many times. Only now he was the one going crazy, and Derek was having to sit on the sidelines, so to speak, and watch.  
  
For a man of action, for a person who always had to have a plan, a response to a crisis – in short, for a man like Derek Morgan – this had to be more frustrating than anything. Spencer was suddenly glad that he was still feeling foggy from all the drugs they’d given him. Were his mind clear, this would be unbearable.  
  
Derek hugged Spencer close and ran a hand through Spencer’s unruly hair. In what barely rose above a whisper, he said, “Forget my questions. I don’t need to know everything, okay? Only tell me if it’ll help _you_ , okay?”  
  
“I do want to tell you. It’s just hard, you know?” Spencer paused; voice trembling, he added, “And I feel like you deserve so much better. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t leave me because of this.”  
  
“I am not leaving you, love. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.” Morgan hugged him again, glanced around to make sure they had some modicum of privacy, and then kissed Spencer.  
  
After a few seconds of silence, Spencer managed to say, “It’s just that I know how it is to–”  
  
“You are not your mother. You’re going to do what they tell you to do. And you’re going to get better, as a result.”  
  
“Derek, I–” Spencer stopped.  
  
“What is it, babe?”  
  
Spencer almost didn’t have the heart to tell him what had happened. Haltingly, he finally did. God, he was mad at himself. How many times had he gotten angry at his mother for not taking medication she needed? How many times had he been bewildered by the staggering statistics on noncompliance with treatment?  
  
Yet when it came down to it, he’d done the same exact thing. And why? Because he was euphoric? What kind of a reason was _that_?  
  
“Well, are you going to do that next time you feel that way?” Derek asked.  
  
“I don’t know, Derek. I can’t know. Now it seems completely irrational, but when it was happening I really did think that I didn’t need it at all. So until I’m actually in that situation again, I can’t say with any sort of certainty that I’ll be compliant.”  
  
“I believe in you, love.”  
  
“I appreciate that. But I don’t.” Spencer shook his head sadly. “My mother never listened to me, when she was ill. It’s just part of the illness itself, you know?”  
  
“You’re different,” Derek said firmly.  
  
“Well, technically, I am.”  
  
Derek’s entire demeanor brightened at that, and he asked, “What do you mean?”  
  
“Dr. Kim doesn’t think that I have schizophrenia. I have bipolar disorder with psychotic features. That’s the preliminary diagnosis, anyway,” Spencer explained.  
  
“That’s great! That’s not bad at all. I mean, bipolar disorder isn’t great, but it’s not as bad as schizophrenia.”  
  
“It can be. It depends. No one disorder is inherently ‘worse’ than any other; that’s a huge misconception people have about mental illnesses. Depression, which most people think is akin to a cold, can be as debilitating as a bad case of schizophrenia, and some people with schizophrenia can be very high functioning.”  
  
Spencer sighed, and Derek put an arm around his shoulders.  
  
“So it’s not about what illness you have; it’s about how severe a case it is,” Derek said somberly.  
  
“Exactly.” Spencer took a deep breath. “Then there’s the fact that, for some, treatment is spectacularly effective, while other people are pretty treatment resistant, even if they do exactly what they are supposed to do.”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
They were silent for a few moments. Usually Spencer was the chattier one, always rattling off interesting things he’d read or learned; in his sedated state, however, he suddenly found himself with nothing to say.  
  
Finally, Derek broke the silence by asking, “Do you want me to bring you anything? The city’s got some pretty good bookstores. You name the book and I’ll figure out a way to get it for you.”  
  
“It’s okay. I’m fine for now.”  
  
Truth be told, Spencer wasn’t sure that he could read when his mind was this fuzzy. When it wasn’t, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate properly either due to the illness itself. He might be able to read something really simple, but that’d be it.  
  
“Seriously, love. You name the book and I will find a copy. I don’t care how obscure it is,” Derek insisted. “Unless you don’t feel like reading, of course,” he added hurriedly, realizing his mistake. “It just seems pretty boring around here.”  
  
Truth be told, right now, Spencer just wanted to sleep forever. He was exhausted from the medication, and, more significantly, he wanted to forget everything that had happened.  
  
“You know what I might like?” Spencer finally asked, more for Derek’s sake than his own.  
  
“What?” Derek asked, eagerly.  
  
“Could you find me a textbook? Perhaps a calculus textbook, or college level physics? Nothing too difficult.”  
  
“Only you, Dr. Spencer Reid, would consider calculus and college level physics easy,” Derek said, laughing as he tousled Spencer’s hair. “I can definitely do that for you. Do you have a particular book in mind?”  
  
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to read it, really; I just want to be able to solve a few problems here and there. I think that I’m still up for that.”  
  
Spencer yawned and leaned against Derek.  
  
“Maybe after a nap, huh?” Derek teased.  
  
“Maybe.” Spencer yawned again. “I’m sorry that I’m so dull right now.”  
  
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, baby. It’s all good.” Derek paused. “You are up to having me here, right? Because if you aren’t, I can leave. I want to see you, but not if you’re too tired for it.”  
  
No wonder people were so often noncompliant, Spencer thought; he felt awful. Then again, things would be different once he was on a steady dose of a mood stabilizer, plus an atypical antipsychotic and an antidepressant. Then maybe he’d feel less drugged. Injections of high doses of Haldol or Thorazine weren’t meant to be used over the long term; they were just for emergencies.    
  
“Spencer?”  
  
Derek must have said something.  
  
“Sorry, love. I zoned out,” Spencer replied. “Maybe you should leave. It’s not that I don’t want you here; I just feel like you shouldn’t have to see me when I’m like this.”  
  
“Spencer,” Derek began, in as serious a tone as he ever used, “listen to me: I am _not_ going to leave you. I’m not going to leave you right now because you’re not entertaining me enough, and I am not going to leave you because you’re mentally ill.”  
  
“You shouldn’t make that into a promise because you’ll only end up being miserable and I–”  
  
“Stop that. Stop that right now,” Derek said sternly. “How many times have you helped me?” Derek continued. “The nightmares, the flashbacks, everything. You made me feel like that was normal, like it was something it was okay to discuss. You never once judged me for any of it. I only wish that you treated _yourself_ as kindly.”  
  
Derek paused, then added, “Look, I know that your father left. I know that Gideon left. And in many ways, your mother left. But I am _not_ going to leave you, Spencer. That may be what you’re used to but it ain’t happening this time.”  
  
Spencer bit his lip to hold back the tears.  
  
All the bad, he could handle. He was used to it. He’d been preparing for this for years, mentally, and even though the reality was still even more awful than anything he could possibly have imagined, he could take it. But Derek’s words – Derek’s love and devotion – almost broke him right then and there.  
  
After all, how could Derek not see that Spencer would only hurt him again and again? How could Derek not see that with this, everything had changed.  
  
Spencer felt Carlos glancing their way and tried to smile; he didn’t want to get Derek into trouble with the staff, or have them think he’d done something wrong when all he’d done was be good to him. Too good to him. In the end, Spencer just shut his eyes and pretended that he was falling asleep.  
  
Just as he was doing so, Alexandra walked over to Carlos and handed him a paper cup filled with water and a small paper cup with pills in it. Carlos got up and walked over to the sofa on which Derek and Spencer were sitting.  
  
At that, Spencer opened his eyes again and watched as Carlos introduced himself to Derek in his usual pleasant, easygoing manner. Then he said that the nurse had medication for Spencer.  
  
“We’re starting you on Lithium and Zyprexa, which should calm you down pretty fast,” Carlos explained. “You probably have heard of Lithium. And Zyprexa is an–”  
  
“Atypical antipsychotic,” Spencer interjected sleepily. “I know all the medications, interactions, side effects.” When Carlos looked slightly bewildered, he explained, “My mother has schizophrenia and I have an eidetic memory.”  
  
“Well, I suppose I’ll just give these to you then.”  
  
Shortly after taking the additional medications, this time without protest, Spencer truly couldn’t keep his eyes open.  
  
“You need to lie down, love,” Derek said. When Spencer didn’t respond, he grew worried. “Spencer? Spencer!”  
  
Carlos approached, and Spencer heard him reassure Derek that his partner was fine, just very, very tired. Together, the two men helped Spencer collapse on the bed in his room. He slept there for hours.


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the day passed without incident, and, thanks to his night medications, Spencer was even able to fall asleep early. The following morning, moreover, the first thing Spencer did was take a shower and put on some of the fresh clothes Derek had brought him. It was amazing what a big difference little details like that could make. Now he felt almost like himself again.  
  
But the illusion that nothing had changed didn’t last for long. When he left his room, Spencer saw that the night staff were still there. A glance at a window showed that it was still dark outside. He’d hardly slept, but was feeling wired as ever. It was a good feeling, this time; he felt so vividly, vibrantly _alive._ Then Spencer corrected himself. This wasn’t a feeling; it was a symptom, and one that could turn ugly _fast_ , at that.  
  
Spencer glanced at the medication window. It was closed. The nurse was probably busy preparing everybody’s morning medications. He didn’t want to disturb her. Or was it that he merely wanted to experience this feeling for just a _little_ longer? He wasn’t sure; he couldn’t trust himself, in this state. He began pacing, striding from one end of the corridor to the other. He knew that he should probably talk to a staff member. And he would. He would if this got any worse.  
  
By the time Dr. Kim happened to run into him, his mind was racing uncontrollably.  
  
“Dr. Kim!” Spencer exclaimed. “Good morning! How are you? I’ve been thinking some things over. I was reading some journal articles the other day. They’re doing amazing work in quantum physics these days. The most interesting one I read was about studies conducted using nanotubes and extremely thin layers of carbon. It’s incredible! They’re investigating the properties these materials have, and–”  
  
“Spencer, I’m really sorry. I can’t stay and talk. I have to get to a meeting. Are you going to be all right?” He paused. “You know what? You stay right here. I’ll get Alexandra to get you a PRN before we all go in for the meeting.”  
  
“You have got to hear this, Dr. Kim. It’s _fascinating_. I mean, the quantum physics alone is incredible, but what really blows my mind is the way it could be applied to psychopharmacology. We could create drugs that–”  
  
“Spencer,” Dr. Kim interrupted, more firmly. “You need to take your PRN.”  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with me! There’s something wrong with _you_ , if you prioritize going to some meeting over what could be a breakthrough in your field!”  
  
“You know, deep down, that what you just said isn’t true. You’re manic, and I think that, on some level, you’re aware of that. Am I right?”  
  
Spencer took a deep breath. Maybe he had a point. But lots of great things were discovered by manic minds. If he took the medication, he might forget the connection he made. He might forget _all_ of it.  
  
“Please do this willingly. You’re off of status. Don’t you want to stay that way?”  
  
Spencer nodded before adding, as they walked towards the medication window, “I just don’t want to forget my ideas!”  
  
“The Thorazine will take a little while to work. You can use that time to write down some notes. Then you won’t lose any of your ideas.”  
  
Spencer reluctantly took the pill when it was given to him, and then raced off to find a pen and paper. But he couldn’t seem to write things down in any sort of organized way; they were all getting jumbled. The amazing clarity of thought he’d believed he’d possessed had been an illusion.  
  
By the time the drug kicked in fully, he couldn’t remember any of it, perhaps because there had been nothing of merit there in the first place. His notes certainly didn’t make sense. They looked like–  
  
–like the notes of a _crazy person_.  
  
Why was he so surprised by it? That’s precisely what they were. He _was_ crazy. Yes, it could be controlled. Yes, the Thorazine had brought him back to reality. But if not for Dr. Kim’s insistence that he do so, he wouldn’t even have taken it. How many times would he get into these manic states without realizing that the minute his mood swung in that direction, he had to actively _do_ something about it?  
  
By the time Derek came, Spencer was subdued, if not outright sad.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Spencer said. “I’m sorry for putting you through all of this. I wish that I weren’t feeling like this right now. I wish that I were more hopeful.”  
  
“It is what it is,” Derek replied. “But I don’t see why you’re so pessimistic. It’s only been a few days and you’re already a lot calmer.”  
  
In response, Spencer ended up explaining what had happened in the morning.  
  
“I can’t keep taking Thorazine. Worse still, I apparently I can’t even be trusted to take it when I need it. I need somebody to _convince_ me. That’s the truly troubling part,” Spencer said dejectedly. “Derek, if Dr. Kim hadn’t walked by when he did, I would have eventually ended up losing it and getting put back on status.”  
  
“Then you need to learn to identify the warning signs, so that you can act before it’s so advanced that you won’t take the steps needed to stop it,” Derek said, wrapping his arm around Spencer’s shoulders and pulling him close.  
  
“That’s what we talked about in this morning’s meeting with my treatment team, actually. I just hope that I can learn to do it. I’ve always relied on my mind to get me through everything; now I have to fight it.”  
  
“I know, love,” Derek responded softly. “It’s not going to be easy. But you can do it.”  
  
“I certainly hope so, or I’ll never leave this place. Well, I will leave this place; it’s not designed for long-term care. But if I don’t figure that out–”  
  
“Spencer, stop it. You’re not going to end up institutionalized.” Determined to make sure Spencer stopped obsessing over the morning’s events, Derek took a calculus textbook out of the bag he’d brought with him. “They gave me a strange look when they searched the bag and found this,” Derek said.  
  
“What’s so strange about doing calculus to relax? Some people do crosswords. I just like numbers better.”  
  
Derek opened the book to a random page.  
  
“Okay, here’s a real challenge: explain this to me.”  
  
“As long as you don’t play dumb, absolutely.” Spencer smiled. “That works on some people, but I know you way too well for you to try that with me.”  
  
“Busted! People always underestimate the guy who kicks down all the doors. I won’t deny that it comes in handy sometimes.” Derek grinned, glanced down at the book and continued, “Now, why don’t you teach me how to differentiate between convergent and divergent infinite series, Dr. Reid?”  
  
Spencer spent the rest of their time together explaining just that. And here, with Derek rubbing his back as he spoke about a subject he understood inside out, he finally felt completely safe for this first time since this all began.  



	6. Chapter 6

**A MONTH LATER:**  
  
“Then they’ll be _two_ agents down, Derek. I won’t allow you to stay here and put everybody else in jeopardy as a result. Besides, I’m _fine._ Fine, okay? The hospital let me leave for a reason. I’m not manic any longer. As you can see, I’m perfectly calm.”

“Actually,” Derek began, hesitatingly, and then stopped abruptly.

“Actually, what?"

He already had a bad feeling about this. But he wasn’t _that_ fragile. Derek could tell him that they’d replaced him. It wasn’t going to make him shatter into tiny pieces. Did Derek really see him this way now?

Apparently, Spencer realized. Apparently. And somehow, knowing that felt even worse than guessing that somebody had taken his job. Granted, Derek had always had a tendency to try and protect him. It was utterly unnecessary, but, before, Spencer had almost found it oddly endearing. Now, it felt downright insulting.

“Actually,” Derek finally said, “there’s somebody new working with us. For now only, of course. She understands that the post is provisional, as do all of us. So don’t worry about the team. They’ll be fine without me. _Fine._ ”

“But what about _you_? They haven’t replaced _you_ , have they? They need you, Derek. I don’t,” Spencer snapped.

“First of all, they haven’t replaced you. It’s provisional, like I said. And that’s the way you’re going to thank me? I’m trying to be patient because I know that you’re not exactly yourself right now, but you’re pushing it, Spencer."

Spencer wanted to bang his head against the wall, but Derek would probably just take that as another sign of his supposed instability and want to stay even _more_. Not exactly yourself right now? What gave him the right to make that claim?

“I am myself.”

Spencer took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do any good for him to keep snapping at Derek. He’d already lost his job; he couldn’t let this damn disease ruin his relationship with his boyfriend as well.

“I’m fine, Derek. I promise. No racing thoughts, no delusions of grandeur, no paranoia. Like I said, they let me out of the hospital a week ago. Maybe I’m still adjusting a little to being back home. But that’s all it is.”

Spencer paused, then added, “And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that I don’t need you. I do need you. You’re my boyfriend. I need you in my life more than anything. I just don’t need to be babysat. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“I don’t know whether you know the truth but just won’t tell me, or you haven’t even admitted it to yourself yet. One thing I’ve learned is that being a genius is apparently no guarantee that you have perfect insight into what you’re feeling.”

“What truth, Derek? I told you. I’m getting used to being out of the hospital. Things are a little overwhelming sometimes. But that’s all.”

“Is that really what you think?”

“That’s really what I think,” Spencer said, doing his best to stop his annoyance from showing.

“Okay. I don’t think that you’re lying to me, then. I think that you just haven’t realized how depressed you’ve gotten.”

“Depressed?” Spencer asked, taken aback by Derek’s assessment.

“I don't know how you can be so surprised. Remember what Dr. Kim said? You have bipolar disorder, Spencer. It used to be called manic depression, and it was–”

“I _know_ ,” Spencer interjected. “But Dr. Kim said it was _likely_ that I could experience a depressive episode. He didn’t say that it would _definitely_ happen.”

Depressed.

He’d written everything off a result of the adjustment to home life after an extended hospital stay. But now that he thought about it, he gradually realized that Derek was right. Readjusting couldn’t explain the feelings of hopelessness and sadness he’d been experiencing. It couldn’t explain how often he felt that he just wanted to disappear entirely. It couldn’t explain how much he was sleeping and how badly it was the only thing he now wanted to do.

“I’m sorry,” Derek finally added.

“For what?” Spencer asked.

“I’m sorry that that is happening to you. And I’m sorry for being so protective. I’m just scared. What if it gets worse? What if you get suicidal? I need to be here. I don’t know what I’d do without you, love. However bad it gets, I hope that you’ll remember that.”

Spencer didn’t say anything for a long time.

“Maybe you should stay, then,” he finally admitted, meekly. “I hope that I’ll remember that, too, but if you’re right, this is just the beginning.”

_If you’re right._

Who was he trying to fool?

This _was_ just the beginning.


	7. Chapter 7

Spencer had developed two new hobbies while in the hospital.  
  
At Dr. Kim’s insistence, he’d begun keeping a journal once he calmed down enough to write coherently. Once he’d left, he’d continued to write, daily, because he’d found that it helped him sort out his own emotions.  
  
He’d also started reading fiction in English. Both fiction in other languages and technical books were too difficult to read when doped up on a cocktail of mood stabilizers and atypical antipsychotics.  
  
But neither of those activities seemed appealing, now.  
  
In fact, none of his hobbies – whether old or new – seemed appealing, now.  
  
Without work to force him out of bed, he spent most of his time there, either sleeping or trying to will himself back to sleep after having woken from a nap. When he found that he absolutely could not sleep, he’d drag himself into their apartment’s living room, curl up on the couch with some blankets, and watch television.  
  
In the past, he’d only _really_ watched television if Star Trek was on, or a documentary popped up that especially interested him. But now, he’d watch anything just to stop himself from thinking.  
  
Thinking had become a dangerous thing to do, Spencer mused. Was that a quote from something? Spencer would have asked Derek, but he’d finally convinced him to leave for a case. He was in California. He called to check in frequently, so Spencer wasn’t going to call him simply because he couldn’t remember a quote.  
  
 _He couldn’t remember a quote._  
  
See, Spencer thought, this is why there’s no point in living any longer. The person he’d used to be had already gone. He couldn’t even remember a fucking quote. Maybe it was the medication cocktail they had him on; maybe it was the depression. It didn’t matter.  
  
 _He was already gone._  
  
Derek had asked him, the other day, if he’d been thinking about suicide lately. He’d vehemently denied it. Maybe a little too vehemently, because between whatever had made Derek suspicious of it in the first place and the intensity with which Spencer insisted that he was fine, just tired, Derek had told him he was getting on the next plane back to D.C. and taking him to the hospital. Thankfully, Spencer had been able to talk him out of it. He couldn’t have Derek here.  
  
For it to work, he’d have to be alone.  
  
Spencer knew precisely what percentage of suicide attempts failed, and he wasn’t about to become part of that statistic. When he did it, it had to work. Derek had taken his gun, or he’d already have done it, with that. But now he’d have to use his pills, and that required that he have enough of them.  
  
He probably could go get a refill at the CVS by now, actually. Then he’d be able to do it with the knowledge that he would certainly succeed. But that would require him to be able to get dressed, get in the car, drive to the CVS, and get the medication. And that most trivial of tasks seemed utterly beyond him. His laziness and apathy were keeping him alive. The minute he had the energy, he’d get the pills and take them, all, along with an antiemetic to ensure that he didn’t vomit afterwards. Then, provided that Derek didn’t get so worried that he wasn’t answering the phone that he’d send people to check on him too soon, he’d succeed.  
  
That said, there was still part of him – a small part, at this point – that realized that things had gotten so bad that he should probably call up the closest hospital and arrange to go inpatient. Alternatively, he could tell Derek the truth and have Derek come home and handle everything. If going to pick up a refill at CVS was beyond him, preparing to go inpatient probably was, too.  
  
This small part reminded him that if he did it, Derek would come home and find him. He’d considered calling 911 before taking the pills so first responders would find him, but they might be able to save him. So that was out of the question.  
  
Besides, there was something selfish about suicide. Right? He’d be ending his pain, but at what cost? He’d be hurting Derek horribly as a result, for one. And what about his mother? She didn’t know what had happened yet, not any of it, and surely somebody would have to tell her, at some point, that her beloved boy was gone.  
  
So there were reasons to stop thinking about how to do it and at least entertain the idea of how to _stop_ himself from doing it.  
  
Just as Spencer tried to force himself to forget it all, the phone rang. It was Derek, most likely. Calling to check in, as usual. Spencer knew his not answering would worry him, so he forced himself to pick up the phone.  
  
“Spencer, baby? You there?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m here.”  
  
“How are you doing?”  
  
“I slept until the afternoon. Now I’m watching television. I actually sort of drifted off and don’t really know what show it is, but it passes the time, I suppose.”  
  
That was honest enough; if you replaced “drifted off” with “thought about how he’d kill himself for the millionth time” it would even be accurate. Hopefully Derek wouldn’t feel the need to keep digging. If he got lucky, he’d just hang up. The less they spoke and the more Derek was away, the easier it would be on Derek when he killed himself.  
  
 _If_ he killed himself. Suicide is selfish, Spencer reminded himself. With Derek’s concerned voice coming at him from California, he couldn’t just leave Derek finding him dead out of the plan. Then again, how much did it matter? He’d be dead, gone from this hellish life for good. He wouldn’t have to watch Derek try to deal with it.  
  
“Spencer?”  
  
“Sorry, the TV’s sort of loud. I missed what you said. One second.”  
  
Spencer reached for the remote and put the show on mute.  
  
“What did you say?” Spencer then asked.  
  
“I just asked you what you were watching.”  
  
“Like I said, I don’t know. It was Law  & Order, before, but they switched to something else. And then I drifted off.”  
  
“Well, I have some good news. We caught the bastard. I’ll be home by tonight.”  
  
Spencer didn’t speak.  
  
“Don’t go getting all excited over it,” Derek added.  
  
“Of course I’m excited.”  
  
“You don’t sound it.”  
  
“Derek, it isn’t you. I’m sort of incapable of excitement. Or happiness. I’m glad that you’re coming home, though. Really, I am.”  
  
“You scare me more every day. I don’t think I’ll let them drag me on the next case, not if you stay the way you’ve been lately.”  
  
“NO!” Spencer exclaimed, instinctively, before he realized that protesting so strongly would be the undoing of all of his plans.  
  
“Wow. First you’re not excited that I’m coming home. Now you don’t want me to stay once I get here? Should I just stay here? Would that make you happier?”  
  
Derek sounded genuinely hurt.  
  
Good. If he hates me, he won’t miss me, Spencer thought. But, in the end, he couldn’t bear to do it, couldn’t bear to hear Derek sound so wounded by his words.  
  
Instinctively, he began, “It’s not that, it’s–”  
  
Then he stopped.  
  
“I don’t want you to ruin your career because of me, is all,” Spencer finally said.  
  
“No, that’s not why you don’t want me around,” Derek responded. “Like I said, you scare me more every day.”  
  
Derek paused, then asked, “Spencer, please be honest with me: are you suicidal?”  
  
“Didn’t we _just_ go through this?”  
  
“You weren’t suicidal then, maybe. _Maybe_. I still don’t quite believe you. But I’m asking you about right now. Are you suicidal? Am I going to come home and find you dead if I go on another case? Am I going to come home _tonight_ and find you dead?”  
  
 _Am I going to come home_ tonight _and find you dead?_  
  
Spencer didn’t know how, or when, it happened. He thought he’d stopped being able to cry weeks ago, after spending about two weeks doing that over just about everything. Yet the next thing he knew, he was holding on tightly to the phone and sobbing uncontrollably. It was as if all the pent up pain had finally found a release.  
  
“Baby, it’s okay.”  
  
“No,” Spencer managed to say. “It’s not.”  
  
“Listen, Spencer. I will make the calls. I will get you admitted somewhere, because you are not safe alone and I can’t watch you every second of the day. And I’ll take you in tonight. And they’ll help you there, okay?”  
  
Spencer _still_ couldn’t stop sobbing.  
  
“I love you, Spencer. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You just stay safe until I get home tonight, okay? Can you do that, baby? For me?”  
  
“I want to die,” Spencer admitted, finally, tears still streaming down his cheeks.  
  
“I know, baby, I know. And look, I get it. I know these last few weeks have been hell for you. I’m just asking you to hold on a few more hours. Can you do that?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He didn’t have the time he’d need to get everything together, anyway.  
  
“I love you, Spencer. I’ll see you very, very soon. And I’ll make sure that you go somewhere good, somewhere you can get better. Just promise me you’ll stay safe until I arrive tonight. Okay?”  
  
“I’ll stay safe.”  
  
“Promise?”  
  
“Promise.”  
  
“You know what? If you don’t mind, I think I’ll see if I can get Penelope to go over to the apartment. She’ll bring her laptop. I’ll tell her you’re not up to doing much. Can I ask her, just so you’re not alone?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Thank you,” Derek said, sounding immensely relieved. “I’ll see you soon, love.”  
  
“See you soon.”  
  
With that, Spencer hung up the phone, curled up on the couch, and started to cry again.


	8. Chapter 8

He looked exhausted.  
  
That was the first thing Spencer noticed when Derek came through the door.  
  
Sure, it must have partially been the stress of the case he was on; he couldn’t count that out. But, mostly, it had to be the fact that Derek must have been worrying about him for the past week that had gotten him to look like he could barely stay on his feet. Meanwhile, he’d been spending his time sleeping and watching bad television.  
  
He was a burden.  
  
 _He was a burden.  
  
_ All he did was make people worry about him. Derek might not know it – indeed, he might currently believe the exact opposite to be true – but in reality, Derek would be off if he were dead. He’d mourn, but eventually he’d move past it and find somebody better. Somebody who wasn’t like this, like him. Somebody who wasn’t a burden.  
  
Somebody who could, as a bare minimum, go kiss his exhausted, worried boyfriend in a way that might reassure him at least a little bit. But he couldn’t do that. Instead, he watched as Penelope ran over towards him and they embraced.   
  
“Penelope,” Derek said, pulling his dear friend close.   
  
“It’s going to be okay, Derek.”  
  
“Thank you for doing this for me, Penelope,” Derek said. “I hope that it wasn’t too much trouble.”  
  
“It was no trouble at all. Spencer didn’t want to chat, so I just played around on my laptop the entire time. And if you ever need me to do this again, you know, I can.”   
  
“Thanks, again. You are a godsend.”  
  
“Are you going to be all right?” Penelope asked.  
  
“I’m fine, and I’ll be getting him admitted inpatient somewhere tonight.”  
  
“You don’t always have to be okay just because he isn’t, Derek.”  
  
 _Thank you, Penelope Garcia._  
  
“I know.” Derek shrugged. “But, really, I’m fine. Go get some rest.”  
  
“I hope you do, too,” Penelope said. “Let me get my stuff, and I’ll be out of your way.”  
  
Penelope approached; as she did so, Spencer shut his eyes and sank into the sofa, so that they would think he’d been asleep the whole time instead of unable to get up and greet Derek the way he should have.   
  
Besides, Garcia was right.  
  
 _You don’t always have to be okay just because he isn’t, Derek._  
  
She was right; Derek needed support, too. He had his own demons to fight, for one; besides, wasn’t that what a partnership was about? Two people, supporting _each other_?   
  
“Spencer? Love?”   
  
Derek was reaching down, shaking him gently.  
  
Spencer opened his eyes, still pretending he’d been in a deep sleep. With effort, he managed to sit up. Derek immediately sat down beside him as Penelope stuffed her laptop into a pink messenger bag and headed for the door.  
  
With a wave, she called out, “Bye, you two!”   
  
“Be good, baby girl!” Morgan teased.  
  
“Never,” she responded, and let herself out.  
  
“Hey, Spencer,” Derek said. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“I’ve been better.”  
  
He would have said “okay” and tried to shift the discussion over to the fact that Derek looked half-dead, but he knew Derek would never accept that answer.  
  
“I know, love. And I’m so sorry that you’re going through all of this. But I’m going to find a good hospital with some open beds tonight, and you’ll get admitted and they’ll help you there, okay?”  
  
Spencer nodded.   
  
There was no deterring Derek from this. He’d be up all night between the research and actually taking him in to be admitted. And then he’d be at work tomorrow. But he knew, from his tone, that protests would all be in vain. Besides, once he was in the hospital, maybe Derek could stop worrying so much. Still, he had to tell Derek that he was off the hook. That he wasn’t _stuck_ with Spencer just because he was sick.  
  
“Derek, can you listen to me for a second?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Derek, I know what it’s like to have to take care of somebody. To have to worry about them. To have to be fine yourself, all the time, just because they’re sick. And I don’t want that for you. So what I’m telling you is that once you drop me off tonight, you can leave. You can find somebody who is _healthy_ , who deserves you. Who will take care of you, too, instead of always needing you to save him.”  
  
He spoke as quickly as he could; he wanted Derek to hear it all, and he knew that if he stopped for a second Derek would interrupt, would protest.   
  
“Damn it, Spencer!”   
  
Derek sighed.  
  
“How many times do I have to tell you that you are not your mother? You both have severe mental illnesses, sure. But this is manageable. They’re going to find the right cocktail of medication for you at the hospital, and soon enough you’ll be back to your old self.”  
  
Spencer shook his head sadly.  
  
“I know, I know. You don’t think so. You’re depressed as hell; you want to _die_ , so you’re obviously incapable of believing me when I say you’ll get better. But when you get out of the hospital, it’ll be different.”  
  
“You deserve so much better than this,” Spencer said sadly.  
  
“You are _not_ getting rid of me, okay? I am stubborn as hell, Spencer. You should know that by now. Besides, I am going to take anything you say right now with a grain of salt, because your depression is warping your view of things just as much as your manic episode did. If you still feel this way when you leave the hospital, _then_ we’ll have a serious conversation about it.”  
  
“Promise?”  
  
“Promise. For now, you need to pack and I need to make some calls. If you want to help me, do that. And don’t even _think_ of claiming that you don’t need to go to the hospital after all. You do.”  
  
“Honestly, I don’t think I have the energy to argue with you,” Spencer admitted.  
  
Derek finished setting up his laptop and glanced over at him.  
  
“You know what? We’ll pack together. They might need to talk to you during some of these calls, so, for now, you’re staying right here.”   
  
“Okay.”  
  
Spencer sank back into the sofa. He couldn’t even pack his clothes without assistance. He was useless. Derek deserved so much better. Why didn’t he see it? He supposed that Derek really did think he’d get better, that he’d go to the hospital and then everything would be fine. But that was just not how these things went.  
  
 _That was just not how these things went._  
  
Of that, he was entirely certain.


	9. Chapter 9

Spencer’s first week in the hospital was hellish. Derek was away with the team, and thus couldn’t come and visit, and as much as he normally adored Penelope Garcia, he’d always told her to come late so that their time together would be brief. He could only hold it together for so long, it seemed.   
  
He missed Derek desperately, of course. That said, every time he found himself needing his partner, he’d immediately feel guilty. After all, Derek deserved to have somebody in his life who could support _him_ too, not somebody so ill he’d ended up in psychiatric hospitals twice in as many months.  
  
So it was with mixed feelings that Spencer finally watched Derek head down the corridor towards the sofa on which he was sitting, waiting.  
  
“Baby, I’m sorry that I’ve been away all week,” Derek began, sitting down beside him. “I wanted to see you so badly.”  
  
Derek paused, looking Spencer over. Spencer stared down at the ground, unable to embrace Derek, or even meet his gaze. He knew how badly Derek wanted – needed, really – a joyful reunion, but he just couldn’t give him one right now.  
  
“What’s up, Spencer?” Derek asked concernedly. “What have they done with your medications? Are you feeling at all better?”  
  
Spencer could only shake his head.  
  
“ _I’m_ the one who should be apologizing, not you,” he finally said. “I mean, you don’t need to come home from a stressful case to go comfort somebody in a fucking psychiatric hospital. You deserve somebody who will support _you_ , not be–”  
  
“Stop that, Spencer. You aren’t going to chase me away. I’m not going to leave you because of this. I’m not like your father. I’m staying right here by your side, no matter what happens.”   
  
Spencer drew in a deep breath.   
  
This wasn’t going to be easy, but he had to do it, for Derek’s sake.   
  
“I have bipolar disorder, Derek. These hospitalizations won’t be the only ones; they’ll be two of many to come, I’m sure. Clearly, I don’t have the courage necessary to kill myself. Hopefully, one day, I will. But until that day I will be nothing but a burden to _anyone_ who decides to stay close to me. So I’m telling you, for your own sake, to leave now and never even turn back.”  
  
“What was that? The _courage_ necessary to kill yourself? Killing yourself doesn’t take courage. Asking for help, persevering, living in spite of it all? Now _that_ takes courage, and that’s what you’ve done so far.”  
  
“I _should_ commit suicide. I’m a burden to you, and everybody else who is convinced that they have to keep caring about me. I can’t even contribute anything to society any longer.”   
  
“Those feelings and thoughts are not the ones you usually have. And once these damn medications start working, you’ll stop having them. So I’m not even going to address them except to say that I am _not_ leaving, no matter what you say to me right now,” Derek responded.  
  
Before Spencer could protest, Derek pulled him into a tight hug. When he did so, the part of Spencer that craved his touch, that _needed_ this desperately, took over and he wrapped his arms around Derek and returned the embrace. And, simultaneously, Spencer burst into tears.  
  
“Spencer?” Derek released him quickly. “Was that too much? It’s okay, baby. We can just chat, all right?”  
  
“It’s not your fault, I just–”  
  
He couldn’t stop sobbing.  
  
Derek took Spencer by the hand and squeezed it tightly. Still, sobs wracked Spencer’s thin frame. He overheard Derek speaking to a nurse in a worried voice, asking if they could give him anything, if they could do anything. He didn’t hear the nurse’s response. But he knew what it was, what it had to have been.  
  
After all, there _was_ nothing they could do. Gradually, Spencer calmed himself down. He had to explain this to Derek. That, at least, he could manage.  
  
Still, he began by apologizing.  
  
“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to see that. You shouldn’t–”  
  
“Worry? Sorry, but I think that would have happened even if you hadn’t started crying. I’m so angry at your doctor right now. You shouldn’t have to still be like this. There has to be _something_ they can give you,” Derek insisted.  
  
“There isn’t. The only thing I can do, other than wait for this to pass, is have ECT, and I’m not entirely comfortable with that idea yet. It’s not the doctor’s fault.”  
  
“And it isn’t yours either, so you’re going to go the rest of this visit without apologizing to me again. Got that? No more apologizing.”  
  
“I just feel really guilty, Derek. I feel like a horrible person. I feel like you deserve better than me,” Spencer explained.  
  
“Can you, at the very least, say that you are on some level aware that you’re not well and that the guilt is completely irrational?”  
  
After a pause, Spencer nodded.  
  
“Good,” Derek said. “Try to keep that in mind, okay? Can I hug you again, baby?”  
  
Spencer nodded. There could be no tears this time. He had to be strong.  
  
And he was. In the three hours that followed, he even legitimately felt little moments of happiness. He held on to them tightly, not only when they occurred, but in the seemingly endless days of darkness that followed.  
  
He’d just about become convinced that the pain would never leave him – that it would become a part of him forever, making him unable to feel anything else – when Derek’s visits began to bring more and more moments of genuine joy. Soon, other things did, too. Then, to his infinite relief, the guilt and self-recrimination faded away, leaving him – while undeniably fragile – finally, _finally_ wanting to live.


	10. Chapter 10

_People go mad in idiosyncratic ways. Perhaps it was not surprising that, as a meteorologist's daughter, I found myself, in that glorious illusion of high summer days, gliding, flying, now and again lurching through cloud banks and ethers, past stars, and across fields of ice crystals. Even now, I can see in my mind's rather peculiar eye an extraordinary shattering and shifting of light; inconstant but ravishing colors laid out across miles of circling rings; and the almost imperceptible, somehow surprisingly pallid, moons of this Catherine wheel of a planet. I remember singing 'Fly Me to the Moon' as I swept past those of Saturn, and thinking myself terribly funny. I saw and experienced that which had been only in dreams, or fitful fragments of aspiration.  
  
Was it real? Well, of course not, not in any meaningful sense of the word real. But did it stay with me? Absolutely. Long after my psychosis cleared, and the medications took hold, it became part of what one remembers_ –  
  
“Spencer?”  
  
Reluctantly, Spencer looked up from his book. It wasn’t his usual fare, but his psychiatrist had strongly recommended that he read it anyway. He claimed that Spencer would really identify with what the author had to say about her battle with bipolar disorder.   
  
He’d been right; once he got into it, Spencer found the book almost impossible to put down. That didn’t happen much these days. Gone were the times when he could breeze through books in any number of languages, scanning the pages at a tremendous pace. The drugs slowed him down, dulled him. He hated them for it. And he hated himself even more, for needing them.   
  
“Spencer?” Derek called out, for the second time.   
  
“What is it, Derek? I’m reading,” Spencer snapped in response.  
  
“Well, if you don’t put down your book long enough to come over here and take your pie out of the oven it’s going to burn.”  
  
“Damn it! I totally lost track of time. I’m sorry that I snapped at you; I thought that you were going to remind me to take my medication.”  
  
They had actually had a pretty vicious fight over the topic. Spencer had alarms set to remind him when to take his various medications, but for some reason Derek had insisted on reminding him anyway. Spencer had made him promise to stop.   
  
“No, baby. I remember our conversation. Trust me, I remember.”   
  
Spencer felt a pang of guilt. Perhaps he’d been too harsh. He just _hated_ it, absolutely _hated_ it, when Derek treated him like he was unable to manage his illness himself. Like he needed constant assistance. And fine. Maybe he did. But he wanted the assistance to come from his psychiatrist and therapist, not his partner. It wasn’t Derek’s burden to bear.  
  
Still, Spencer mused as he put down his book, raced into the kitchen and extracted the pie from the oven, Derek _did_ help him. There was no doubt about it. He felt a pang of guilt. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten so angry about the reminders to take his medication. Derek couldn’t be handling this better, for the most part.   
  
He was the one who was struggling to adjust to this new reality. _He_ was the one who was having a hell of a time accepting it. It surprised him, how hard it was, especially given the fact that he’d spent most of his life half anticipating developing a serious mental illness. But anticipating something and accepting it were two very different things, as his therapist had said.   
  
Spencer forced himself to refocus. He looked over the results of his latest experiment in baking: a cherry pie. Not bad, not bad at all. Cooking and baking were two of the latest hobbies he’d taken up in an effort to find ways to spend his free time that did not involve ruminating over the fact that he’d lost everything.   
  
No, that wasn’t right.  
  
Spencer glanced over at Derek.  
  
Despite the fights, despite his breakthrough symptoms, despite Spencer’s many attempts to tell him to find somebody better, Derek had stayed. And Derek had promised, time after time, that he would always stay. So, yes, he’d lost his job, a job he loved dearly; he’d lost access to many of his intellectual gifts; he’d lost all his self-confidence, and his ability to trust himself.   
  
But he hadn’t lost everything, because Derek had stayed.  
  
 _Derek had stayed._  
  
“Derek?”  
  
“What’s up, pretty boy?”  
  
Instead of answering, Spencer strode over to Derek and pulled him in for a kiss. He took in Derek’s touch, his taste, his smell. Derek kissed him back, enthusiastically.   
  
“Should we take this somewhere else?” Derek whispered huskily.  
  
Spencer met Derek’s gaze. It exuded such _love_. He was at a loss for words. _  
  
_“I love you, Derek Morgan,” Spencer said, at last.  
  
“I love you, too,” Derek replied.  
  
 _Derek had stayed._  
  
This damned thing had hit like a hurricane, destroying everything in its path, but through it all Derek had stayed. Without him, Spencer thought, he’d have probably have already committed suicide. Without the man he loved in it, his life really would have no meaning.  
  
He could find another job. He could learn to live with being a little slower, a little less extraordinary. He could build his self-confidence up again, and, over time, learn to trust his mind once more.  
  
But there was only one Derek Morgan; he was irreplaceable.  
 _  
Derek had stayed.  
  
_ Derek _would_ stay.  
  
And given that, nothing else mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book that Spencer was reading is An Unquiet Mind by Kay Redfield Jamison. I highly recommend it to anybody interested in learning more about bipolar disorder. It is absolutely fantastic.


End file.
